I didn't know the truth about my parent's marriage for a long time. When I was a child, all I knew was the fairytale, complete with true love and a happily ever after.

My mom grew up in Michigan. The oldest of eight kids in a very Catholic household, her father died when she was just 12 years old. One summer afternoon, as they sat watching ( Read more... )

I rose before the sun and sat up in an old bed, worn springs creaking a wretched protest. The painted metal of the rail beneath my hand was chipped and scarred from decades of indelicate use. My mother slept soundly on the bunk below me, her sturdy body a familiar presence beneath blankets that smelled like strangers.

I marveled at the darkness, ( Read more... )

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